BG: Musings
by Neleothesze
Summary: (Complete) Xzar reflects on one of his new companions. [Xzar/Bhaalspawn friendship... from a certain point of view]


**Musings**

[Day 1]

Montaron is all but ready to jump the tall one from the shadows - crouched in a currant bush, not five feet behind the human. He's about to give the go-ahead, slowly walking within touching distance of the strange elven child who is staring at him with such untempered fascination.

Part of him wants to ditch the plan, forget about freezing her blood and just make her flee in horror; anything just to get away from those wide, nearly filmy eyes searching his own gaze so intently. 'Look away! look away!' he hears - and it isn't even the usual voice.

But then the child _sniffs _the air… and the look softens somehow. She smiles and says 'You're beautiful!' like she's just had a revelation. 'May I touch you?'

The voices are so loud, they're threatening to drown out all reason.

'No touching!' 'Look at the eyes, you idiot! She's blind, just move away.' _'_It can still **see** us!_' _'_Yes, it's aware of our position and its previous comments suggest **some** form of sight. The milky pupil could be part of an improperly performed transformation.' _another voice interjects, its words short and rushed; this one he knows well.

'_A Greater Doppelganger perhaps? Surely we would have detected some inconsistency if it were a lesser one.' _it suggests in an excited, almost manic tone.

_'__From this distance, we won't be able to dispel its protections in time - we'll be dead in well under three minutes!_' 'I told you to put some space between you! Throw the halfling at them and run!' '_Yes, the probability of escaping, especially if it decides to focus on dear Montaron, is at least ten percent higher. Though decidedly less if the pink one is a similar creature._'

There are quite a few others, clamoring over each other, so he can't explain why the first thing to come out of his mouth is 'Yes, yes. But wipe your hands first, you're filthy!'

And he wonders why he secretly agrees with whoever answered in his stead. Could it have been himself?

* * *

He calls off the attack. Because he can always order Montaron to kill them later, after he's unraveled this new puzzle.

* * *

[Day 49]

They are gathered around the campfire, waiting for the evening meal to boil - a simple rabbit stew seasoned with some herbs he has relinquished from his component pouch.

It isn't often that he completely loses touch with reality, but as the flames dance and flicker, he falls into an old memory.

* * *

His mother is brushing his hair and singing a simple, merry little tune. He's loathe to disturb her when she's in one of her better moods, but his tutor's explanations made no sense and he _must _know.

'Mother, why can't I hurt Lamit?'

Her hands still as she lifts him from the seat and settles him on her knees. He's not scared though - not yet, because her hands are still steady and she's never mean when her hands are still steady.

'And who might Lamit be, Xzar?'

'Cook's boy, mother.'

'I see. And what precisely did you do to him?' she asks, her tone going lower, the words softer around the edges - and yet much sharper that way.

'I held his hand over the fire...' he whispers, as if he's sharing a secret even though he doesn't understand why it's supposed to be a secret - and why he's supposed to feel _guilty _and _sorry _and _ashamed_ and feel so many other feelings when he feels none at all.

His mother resumes brushing his hair, resumes her singing and he's half-asleep by the time she speaks again.

'Xzar… How many mothers do you have?'

Such an easy question… 'One, mother.'

'And fathers?'

'One, mother.'

'And Lily the Cat?'

He giggles a little, because of course there's just one Lily the Cat, if there were more, he'd have to name them something different, wouldn't he? But he dutifully answers 'One, mother.'

'And what if I killed Lilly the Cat? How many would you have then, Xzar?'

He frowns then, because suddenly the game isn't so fun anymore.

'I... wouldn't have any.'

'And if I killed your father, how many would you have then, Xzar?'

Her hands are starting to shake, but he knows she won't take his silence for an answer so he swallows and hates his voice for shaking but when mother's in one of her worse moods, questions aren't always hypothetical.

'I... wouldn't have any, mother.'

'And if I killed myself, how many would you have then, Xzar?'

'I wouldn't have any!' he nearly yells 'So don't! Please! Alright!'

'Oh, I won't. Calm, my darling... But perhaps there's something you'd agree to... would it be better if I were to only sever one of Lilly's legs, would that be alright? Or merely skin it, carefully cut out a couple of tendons… there are quite a few potions that could do with…'

And no, it wouldn't, because Lily is the only pet who hasn't run away from Xzar, who's suffered his manhandling ever since she was a kitten and still yearns for his affection. Maybe he's fed Lily a poisoned rat or two - just to see what happens - and maybe he's tried to freeze her a couple of times but Lily is his. Lily is **his** and it's _not_ alright.

'No! Don't touch her! I'll... I'll...' he really screams this time and it takes him a while to realize that he's dug his nails into his mother's arm as if to keep her from moving - and isn't that silly, because she wasn't going anywhere. He lets her go but there are already small drops of blood welling up from the marks. He bites his lip but mother doesn't look angry. Not as she usually does... In fact, she's grinning - and if her grin is slightly scary, it's still better than seeing her eyes narrow in anger, isn't it? - so he tries to smile back.

'I apologize... Please mother, don't hurt Lily.'

He's so stiff he's trembling and he bites his lip, praying to escape punishment - this time. Her hands clench and unclench a couple of times and then her eyes soften and with gentle, feather-light touches, she brushes the bangs from his eyes.

'Relax, my sweet little boy.' she promises, leaning down to kiss his brow. 'I only have one Xzar... And you only have one Lily. And if she's broken, you won't have any, will you?'

'No, mother.'

'And if father or I are broken, you won't have any, will you?'

'No, mother' he says again - and he's far too young to realize that his parents are already broken - just in more subtle, insidious ways.

'And if Lamit is broken, Cook won't have any others, will she?'

'No, mot.. oh!' And he blinks a couple of times, the discovery melding with previous knowledge so seamlessly. 'I will apologize to Cook for trying to break her things.'

Mother smiles at him then, and it's radiant - one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen.

'My brilliant little boy. You're correct, of course, we don't go breaking other people's things. Our family is better than that.' another kiss, on his cheek, and another beautiful smile 'My darling child, perhaps you're ready to learn how to play with things that are already broken. Many more of those around...'

'Yes, mother.' he says with a grin.

* * *

In time, he's realized that other people - peasants and simpletons all of them - dislike thinking in terms of possessions. It's always _love_, _friendship_, _caring _and _concern_. They try to attach too many labels to relationships and set so many arbitrary restrictions. Even mages, who should only be worried about the secrets of the arcane, maul the schools of magic, chop off their arms and legs until they fit into a neat little box with a label on top. In time, the label rubs off on the most dedicated practitioners… _Necromancer_. _Black Mage_… He still only plays with other people's broken things and makes them his own.

The fire is dying now, glowing embers throwing off a handful of golden sparks when prodded with a stick.

He looks to where the little elf is sleeping, too close to him for comfort; but he doesn't tense as much around her as he used to and the impulses to stab her are getting easier to manage. Perhaps she's become one of his things now - only she'd speak in terms of some horrible, incomprehensible _feelings._

He remembers his mother, her too bright eyes … her hands - clenching and unclenching on her knees - and silently muses that maybe those feelings are not truly incomprehensible. Burrowing under his own blanket, he thinks that this is what love must feel like, when you want to hurt someone... but don't.

* * *

**_Fin_**


End file.
